


now i've got you (in my space)

by halfabreath



Series: August Prompt Free For All [4]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, OT4, Zimbits/Holsom, poly bros, rarepair hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 13:31:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12212250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfabreath/pseuds/halfabreath
Summary: Two decidedly not soft professional hockey players making breakfast and being soft. It's never the ones you expect.(Zimbits/Holsom Poly ot4)





	now i've got you (in my space)

**Author's Note:**

> For @disney-princess-in-the-making who prompted "Pairing of your choice making breakfast and being soft!" Thanks so much! I'm sorry it's a rarepair mess (I'm not sorry).

[Art collab with jack-manpain-zimmermann](https://jack-manpain-zimmermann.tumblr.com/post/165779245155/collab-art-to-go-with-halfabreaths-beautiful) // [the original post outlining the verse](http://halfabreath.tumblr.com/post/153193183724/tfw-youre-a-grad-student-and-you-have-to-write-so)

* * *

Jack’s eyes have been open for less than three seconds and he’s already annoyed. His pillow is moving, shifting back and forth under his cheek and Jack _will not have it_. He rolls closer with a little huff, burrowing into the warm pocket he’s found. Bitty shifts behind him, letting out a sleepy protest before nuzzling against Jack’s back. Jack’s pillow lets out a sigh and goes still for a few glorious seconds and Jack’s almost asleep when there’s a vibration beneath his cheek.

“Jack,” Holster whispers. He shifts again and then there’s a hand combing through Jack’s hair, scratching at his scalp gently until he opens his eyes again. Jack raises his head, face falling into a sour expression. Holster’s hair is sticking up in every direction but his eyes are clear and he smiles even though Jack is glaring at him. Ransom’s still asleep on his other side, his face tucked against Holster’s neck. He sniffs in his sleep but is otherwise unbothered by their conversation. Holster’s fingers glide from the crown of Jack’s head to the base of his skull, brushing through the short hair on the back of his neck. “You can go back to sleep in thirty seconds but you have to get off of me. I have to pee and I’m _starving_.”

Holster’s always hungry the morning after a game, too excited and jumpy with the last dredges of adrenaline coursing through his veins to eat after they’ve finally finished the post-game media circus. Every morning after, without fail, Holster’s stomach is their alarm clock because he always sleeps in the middle when it’s all four of them together. They’re tangled up together now; when Jack shifts his legs under the blankets he can’t tell who he’s bumping up against.

Jack hums in agreement and drops his mouth to Holster’s bare shoulder in a lazy kiss. “I’ll help you make breakfast.” Holster grins, bright as the sunshine streaming in through the gaps in the curtains, and Jack has to kiss him again for it. This time he rocks up and presses his lips against Holster’s stubbly cheek, lingering, before he settles back on Holster’s chest. Bitty, disturbed by the movement, rolls over with a little huff, legs kicking as he shifts.

Jack moves first, rolling over slowly to avoid disturbing Bitty again. He crawls over his boyfriend’s sleeping form, only pausing to brush his lips over his forehead. Bitty sighs but doesn’t wake, even when Jack’s hovering over him as he untangles himself from the blankets. When Jack’s finally free and out of bed he looks over to see that Holster has made less progress than he has.

Holster’s crouched by the bed, trying to break free of Ransom’s grip as gently as he can. Ransom’s fist is closed around the strap of his tank top, and he doesn’t seem inclined to let go anytime soon. Holster’s whispering to him, hushed platitudes and nicknames Jack can barely hear, but he’s smiling even as he tries to unwrap Ransom’s fist finger by finger. Holster’s shoulders are shaking as he looks up at Jack, shrugging helplessly as he bites his lip to muffle his laughter. Ransom tugs suddenly and Holster’s forced to double over, but before Jack can make his way around the huge bed to help he’s slipped the tank top over his head to free himself. Ransom rolls over, holding the sleep-warmed shirt to his cheek as he settles back on the pillows. Jack grins and rolls Bitty over, moving him across the bed until Ransom curls around him.

It’s adorable. Jack lingers, heart full to bursting as he watches them, only turning away when Holster bumps against him on his way out.

“I thought we agreed on no checking in the bedroom,” He chirps, once he’s in the hall with the bedroom door closed behind him. Holster rolls his eyes dramatically, his whole body leaning into the movement.

“Believe me, when I check you, you’ll know it.” Holster says, using his shoulder to crowd Jack against the wall before slipping into the bathroom. Chuckling, Jack makes his way to the kitchen and fills a kettle with water. When Holster reappears he’s moved over to the coffee machine, but he still tosses his teammate a banana before turning back to his task. Holster begins eating immediately, so hungry he doesn’t even take the time to peel it suggestively like he usually does. Jack glances over at him as he dumps coffee grounds into the machine, hands hovering over the buttons when he gets distracted.

Holster’s staring into the fridge, one hand resting on the open door. His hair is pressed flat in the back and fluffed up in the front, glasses low on his nose. He doesn’t bother to push them up as he eats his banana, occasionally rocking back to try and catch a glimpse further into the fridge. There are faint indentations on his chest and back from where the blankets and sheets had bunched up and pressed into his skin, pale pink streaks over shifting muscles. Jack’s eyes linger on the dark bruise on his side, the purple-blue smear stark against his pale skin. He hadn’t noticed it last night, but Holster had been slammed into the boards more than once during their game against the Aeros. His gaze sweeps up Holster’s side, to his strong back and up his neck, until it comes to rest on his slightly furrowed brow and the movement of his jaw as he chews his last bite of banana. He’s humming, the notes falling and rising in a pattern Jack vaguely recognizes. Holster rocks forward to grab the milk and eggs from the fridge, muscles shifting under his skin, and Jack’s content to watch him just exist for the rest of the morning.

The coffee machine beeps and Jack sights, turning back to his task. There are rustles and soft thunks behind him as Holster gathers the ingredients for pancakes, but Jack doesn’t turn. He pulls down four mugs and places a tea bag in one, lining the other three up by the coffee machine neatly. Holster’s humming becomes half-mumbled singing as he carries the melody under his breath, skipping words in favor of holding out the notes in long runs. His voice is a little rough from sleep but Jack loves him like this - singing purely for his own pleasure, simply because he wants to, entirely devoid of performance and bravado. Jack’s just taken his first sip of coffee when a warm weight drapes over his shoulders, vibrations skipping and jumping from Holster’s chest to Jack’s back. He smiles into the mug and leans back, knowing Holster will keep him upright.

“Am I going to get in trouble if I ask what song that is?” Jack asks, relaxing when Holster’s arms settle around his waist.

Holster laughs softly, ducking down to hook his chin over Jack’s shoulder. “Trouble? Nah. Chirped to hell and back when I tell Bitty and Rans? You know it.”

“Yeah, I know it.” Jack sets his mug back down on the counter and turns in Holster’s arms, letting his hands settle on Holster’s chest. He feels crowded in, enclosed on all sides, completely surrounded, and he loves it. Holster’s warm hands slip under his shirt and come to rest on his hips, lingering even after they break the kiss. “Don’t forget to put protein powder in the batter,” Jack mumbles against Holster’s lips. Holster rolls his eyes but he squeezes Jack’s hips before reaching around him to reach for the powder in the cabinet behind him.

By the time Ransom and Bitty wander out of the bedroom, Holster’s assembled a small city of pancakes of various flavors, the towering stacks leaning against each other haphazardly. Ransom throws Holster his tank top and immediately begins a kitchen-wide search for the bruise cream while Bitty, revived by his first sip of coffee, hops up on the counter and immediately stuffs a chocolate chip pancake into his mouth. Jack’s quiet morning disintegrates into chirping and laughter and first aid tips and soon the song Jack hadn’t recognized before is flowing out of the speakers, all three of his boyfriends singing along as they set the table.

_Now I’ve got you in my space, I won’t let go of you. Got you shackled in my embrace, I’m latching on to you._


End file.
